sweet summertime, sumertime
by omens
Summary: In everyone's past there is a love they never got over and a summer when it began. Chapter 1: Mike and Quinn.


**Title:** sweet summertime, summertime

**Chapter:** stare at you like you've got everything i need

**Fandom:** GLEE

**Word Count:** 7,935

**Genre:** General

**Rating:** T-ish

**Summary:** That was how she used to spend her summers. But that was… Before [Quinn/Mike]

Story title from 'Night Moves' by Bob Segar. Chapter title from 'For the Nights I Can't Remember' by Hedley.

…0…

_the world was somewhere else _

_we had the summer all to ourselves _

_and the stars went off like fireworks _

_- tim mcgraw, seventeen_

…0…

It isn't as if she plans it.

Quinn stares at herself in the mirror, seeing everything replaying like a movie reel on loop, eyes everywhere but at her own guilty reflection.

…0…

The last day of school opens with Coach Sylvester telling her that if, and only if, she gets herself back into form by the end of the summer, she can try out for the Cheerios again.

Try out. The words go through her like a knife. She was head cheerleader for a year and a half. That was her squad.

Until she wrecked it all. Until she was stupid and reckless and not what she had always tried so hard to be.

She starts with running. Every morning before breakfast and every evening after dinner. Half a mile at first, her post baby body complaining at the rigors she's grown so unused to. Then a mile, then two, until she was back in her old clothes and decided to alter her route, going by the school where there was still two hour long practices every day, the late June heat sweltering.

"Quinn."

Turning, she sees Mike walking towards her, sunglasses obscuring most of his face but not his bright smile. When he gets closer she sees that his grey shirt proudly proclaims NERD across his chest in large faded letters. The sight makes her smile for the first time in three weeks.

"Hey, Mike. What are you doing here?"

He inclines his head back towards the direction of the locker rooms. "I lost my sunglasses back before school ended. I was looking for them in my gym locker."

"I see you were victorious." A smile of a different sort - flirty, teasing - works its way across her lips and she takes a second to wish she weren't such a sweaty mess.

If Mike notices, he doesn't let on, and it stings more than she cares to admit. Shrugging his shoulders, he falls into step with her towards the parking lot. "So what brings you here? Shouldn't you be poolside, or at the mall maybe?"

That was how she used to spend her summers. But that was… Before.

"I want my squad back," she says simply, and stares straight ahead, not even checking to see if Mike continues to walk with her or not.

He asks what she's doing about it, which leads to her telling him about her jogging. Which he scoffs at. "You need to more than just one type of exercise, Q. You need to retrain all those muscles that were used to your routines."

Brow drawing together, she stops at the gate that leads to the student parking lot where Mike's Jeep is. "Like what, weight training?"

Grinning, Mike sticks his hand in his pocket and pulls a Sharpie out and grabs her hand.

"Tomorrow, noon. See you there." With another huge grin, he heads off to his car.

…0…

It was an address. One that sounds familiar, but Quinn has no idea why until she pulls her car up to the old building where she used to take ballet classes when she was little. The Lima Dance Studio, established 1963.

"You came."

It's easy enough to find Mike. The older lady at the front desk knows exactly who he is with even needing his last name. He's in the first room on the left, standing beside a battered old boom box in a pair of McKinley High issue track pants.

"I came," she responds and looks around. "Though I don't think I dressed right." Quinn motions at her khaki shorts and lace front top. "I didn't really know what I was in for, so…"

He looks her over. "You can dance in that."

"Dance?"

Mike spread his arms out, eyebrows quirked. "Dance studios are usually intended for dancing." His face is the perfect picture of teasing, and a light flush crawls its way along the length of Quinn's neck.

"Okay, smart guy," she says, tossing her bag onto the lone chair in the room, "let's dance."

…0…

Over the course of the week Mike teaches her the Waltz, the Quickstep, how to tap like a pro, and a pretty mean Samba.

"Enough." Collapsing against one mirrored wall, she slides down on to the hardwood floor. She grabs the water she'd brought with her and greedily gulps down half the contents. "Were you a drill sergeant in a past life?"

Mike falls down beside her, wiping his forehead on the back of his arm. She offers him her water and he takes a swig, holds the cool plastic against the back of his neck for a few seconds. "Just highly motivated."

Quinn turns her body so she can look full at him, studying the lines of his profile, the way his smile cuts along the line of his mouth, how his inky hair flops in sweaty clumps over his ears and temples. "How so?"

He turns his head, an unholy grin of mischief snaking its way along the contours of his lips. "Seeing you in that Cheerios skirt again, obviously."

It takes a few seconds for that to sink in, before a strong blush seeps its way from the inside of her face outward and she shoves at his shoulder. Mike only laughs, standing up, and holds his hand out for her to take.

Rolling her eyes, she clasps his clammy hand in hers and allows him to pull her to her feet.

…0…

Her days, which had been an endless series of daytime TV broken only by runs and the occasional mall trip with Kurt and Mercedes, begin to shift.

She spends more and more time at the dance studio, in the front room with the big window that faces the park, with Mike. It isn't long before he teaches her every dance he knows and it feels as if she's never danced with anyone else but him.

…0…

Every once in a while - not all the time, just every now and then, Mike lets his hands linger on her body a beat longer than necessary. Barely enough to notice - unless you're looking for it.

Not that it means anything.

…0…

There's an old drive in on the outskirts of town. It mostly shows the big blockbusters and whatever fantasy book series has recently been translated to film. But, occasionally, the revival theater in downtown Lima takes over and shows so called 'classics' on the giant screen.

On the first day of July, Mike comes into the studio and stands at the door while Quinn stretches at the ballet bar that runs the length of one mirrored wall. It isn't until she turns her head and sees his reflection that she even knows he's there.

For just one breath, their eyes lock.

Quinn feels something horribly fragile shift in her chest. In a place deep down where she holds the memories she tries not to think about; Finn's face when he'd asked her for the truth, or Puck telling her he loved her, where she tries especially hard to forget the first time she looked into her daughter's eyes. Something in there that has been dormant and cold cracks open and begins to thaw.

Her heart skitters, lungs closing up; she has numbed herself for weeks, and suddenly, something about this boy, this person she's always known, with his easy smile and big heart, is beginning to make her feel again. So she smiles.

The day after school ended, Mrs. Puckerman drove her son down to his grandmother's in Huntington for the summer. She said he needed some time, and not even his pool cleaning 'business' could sway her to relent. After all, he could clean pools in West Virginia just as easily as he could in Ohio.

Quinn and Mike, they don't talk about Puck. Or Beth, or Finn or anything else having to do with Quinn's pregnancy.

For those few hours a day, none of that ever happened.

"Sometimes, when we're dancing-" Quinn begins softly, righting her posture and she can't believe these words are actually coming out of her mouth. She clears her throat, fixes her eyes onto Mike's shoulder. A strong, angry blush flares up, she can feel it running the length of her entire body, "when you… touch me, it doesn't feel friendly at all. I don't know, maybe it's just me."

"Oh."

It isn't the reaction she expected. The 'you're imagining things' or 'its all in your head, Q' that Quinn anticipated would have made some of her nerves lift. His answer instead is 'oh' and now it hangs in the air between them.

"So…" Mike ambles toward her, the angular lines of his shoulders filling up her vision, "how do you feel about Fred Astaire?"

…0…

Mike's Jeep is in the last slot in the third row, behind a small convertible full of blue haired ladies who sing along with all the songs.

In the driver's seat, Mike laughs around a mouthful of Sno-Caps. By the time the chorus comes around he's so loud that all the notes Ginger Rogers is crooning out are lost to Quinn's ears and she tosses a handful of popcorn at the side of his head.

"I can't hear," she says, trying for the same stern tone that used to work so well on Finn, but can't keep the laughter at bay. Mike grins at her, and she slumps down in her seat.

On the screen, she watches Lucky and Penny step over railings and glide in circles along the polished hardwood floor. A hazy memory floats into Quinn's mind. She remembers being seven years old and watching another movie like this with her Nana, Fred and Ginger but not Lucky and Penny, as they battled on a cruise ship. It's a nice memory, one she hasn't thought about in years.

"I told you, I haven't even met her," she says, out of nowhere, "but I'd kinda like to marry her... I think I will."

Mike looks suitably impressed she thinks. "You've been holding out on me."

With a small smile, Quinn snags a few pieces of his candy and turns back to the screen.

…0…

Quinn's having trouble with the footwork for the dance Mike's trying to teach her the day after the movie. She can't remember the name of it - it's French, she takes Spanish - and her concentration simply isn't in it.

"Watch," Mike tells her, as if he hasn't already shown her at least a dozen times. He shifts all his weight onto his toes, then did a quick tap-kick move with his other foot before spinning around, coming to a stop on one foot and dragging his opposite leg to meet it. "See?" Grinning at her, he quirks an eyebrow at her.

If he's waiting for applause, it's gonna be a while.

"I'd be more inclined to swoon if you didn't look so smug about it," she snaps, turning her back to him and pulling the end of her ponytail of her neck. Her Nana used to tell her that hair held heat in the body, so she moves it but only the sparsest relief accompanies the action.

Coming up behind her quietly, Mike blows a puff of air against her damp skin. She jumps.

Whirling on him, Quinn feels her self restraint snap. "What are you doing?"

Looking appropriately chastised, Mike takes a step back from her. Even in the sweltering heat of the studio she can feel the drop in temperature as he moves away. "Sorry... I just-"

"Just what?" she demands. Everything from the last few months; Finn, Puck, the baby, Cheerios, her parents - everything she had kept at bay for so long finally crashed in on her in the form of one stupid French dance that she just could not do and he could. "What is it, Mike?"

"I'm sorry," he says simply, letting his hands fall to his side, shoulders slumped in a look of defeat.

All at once she's ashamed of herself, and the tears build up way too fast behind her eyes.

But she can't admit any sort of weakness. Not again.

Without another word, Quinn hurries out of the room. Mike doesn't stop her.

…0…

"What you're trying to say," Mercedes says, hands up, palms out, attitude oozing from her pores, "is that you blew up on Mike - sweet, harmless Mike Chang for no reason - before you even kissed him?"

Quinn feels herself pinking. "I wasn't planning to kiss him."

All she gets in response is one of those 'who are you trying to fool?' looks.

"Shut up."

…0…

Unable to sleep, Quinn gets up at dawn the next morning for a two mile run.

She slows, but doesn't stop as she passes the corner where Mike's street joins her route.

…0…

"I've given this some thought," Kurt doesn't look up as he swipes a coat of pale pink down the nail of her ring finger, "and your actions the other day were too spontaneous."

"Meaning?"

Of course already Mercedes had told him before he showed up at her door with ice cream and mani-pedi kit. There's no such thing as girl code when it comes to the gay best friend.

He puts down the bottle and the brush, hands folded somewhat primly in his lap. "That boy is nothing to sneeze at Quinn, and he's crazy about you."

Dropping her eyes, unable to bear the accusations in his eyes (probably all in her head), she picks at the edge of the blanket folded across the foot of her bed. "What makes you say that?"

"When a guy voluntarily gives up his summer to 'help' you," he supplies the necessary finger quotes for emphasis, "it usually isn't out of the kindness of his heart."

She sighs. Flopping backwards on her bed, Quinn lays her hands over her stomach and looks up at Kurt where he sits beside her. "I don't know if I'm ready."

Grabbing her hand, he checks for smudges, and resumes his work. "Well, you're worth waiting for, Quinn."

Affection swells up in her heart. She hasn't felt as if she's worth much lately. Not for a while actually. And Mike… he doesn't deserve to have to deal with her baggage. And yet… "You really think so?" The lines of Mike's profile, lit by the bright colorless lights of Hollywood's heyday, swims in front of her eyes.

Kurt looks at her with a mix of sympathy and exasperation. "Maybe once we fix these cuticles."

She slaps at his leg.

Laughing, she lays there and tries not to blush when Kurt asks her if the myth is really true about guys who can dance that well.

"I'm not listening to you."

"I'm only saying," he replies. "You can't deny that the boy can move."

Quinn closes her eyes and tries not to think about it.

…0…

Mike isn't at the studio the following afternoon. Not that she really expected him to be.

With a newfound determination, Quinn leaves and heads straight for Target and scours the shelves until she finds what she's looking for.

…0…

He opens the door in a pair of Snoopy pajama bottoms.

Holding up her DVD, Quinn offers him a tiny smile. "How do you feel about _Guys and Dolls_?"

…0…

The only thing on Quinn's mind that Saturday evening, is trying not to twist her ankle.

"I don't know why you wore those shoes."

Glaring at Mike, she plants her hands on her hips and tries to look as intimidating as possible while wobbling very ungracefully. "Well maybe if someone had told me where we were going."

He grins, she aches. It floored her to realize how much she'd missed that smile after only a few days. Holding out a hand to her, Mike waits for her to step closer and grabs the hem of his shirt in her other hand as he leads her down the bank towards the river.

"We're not supposed to be here," Quinn reminds him, looking up around Mike's Jeep for any telltale red and blue lights. We should have just stayed up on the tracks."

"Where's your sense of adventure, Q?"

Across town, she thinks, in Shelby Corcoran's house.

They reach the barrier set up to keep anyone from actually walking to the water's edge. Their hands stay pressed together once they stop. Quinn moves her fingers to let his slip between them.

"There are no snakes here, right?"

Mike laughs at her. "Water Moccasins, maybe. But I don't think we have to worry."

Grimacing, Quinn moves a little closer to his side. She doesn't really want to find out for sure.

Turning her head, Quinn studies him in the moonlight, and then his eyes tick to the side. He sees her with his peripheral vision and the edge of his mouth turns upward. "I used to come down here a lot when I was a kid," he says. "It's quiet. Except for the trains."

A whistle echoes in the night and they both laugh. Mike runs his thumb along her finger.

She doesn't stop looking at him. "It's nice."

"Yeah."

…0…

She's supposed to be meeting her mom downtown for lunch. Only she's late, her boss having some sort of crisis and she calls Quinn with apologies and promises of making it up to her.

With nothing else to do, she walks to the park and sits in front of the fountain. A small group of younger girls sit giggling on the other side with their feet dangling in the water. Her phone rings and she fishes it out, answering without looking.

"Hey."

Her stomach drops out when Puck's voice comes over the line. "Hi."

"Is it as hot there as it is down here?" he asks, the sound of a lawnmower in the background muffle his words.

She looks around, feeling inexplicable guilt form a tight knot in her chest. "Not too bad. Humid though."

A few moments pass before, "I've been thinking about you."

Quinn doesn't know what to say to that. She's been thinking about him, too, though something tells her that their thoughts, per usual, aren't running along the same track.

"Buy you a burger?"

Quinn starts, swiveling to see Mike beside her on the stone edge of the fountain. He's giving her that lazy grin that she loves, eyes twinkling in a most suspect fashion.

"I'll call you back," she says hurriedly, snapping her phone shut before Puck can retort. The boy beside her is still there, not a care marring his face. He's looking at her with no agenda, no suspicion. Just Mike. "You just happened to find me here, huh?" She tries for an expression of total innocence.

Though she has no idea why.

He shrugs, hands on bouncing on his knees. "I was dropping off some dry cleaning for my mom, then saw this flash of yellow. At first I thought it was a big lemon…"

Rolling her eyes, she bumps his shoulder with hers. "Real nice, Chang. I guess that means you weren't serious about the burger."

"Nope, definitely still stands."

He gets up and holds a hand out to her. She takes it without thought, hearing the girls on the other side giggling and whispering. Quinn is used to that, but it doesn't bother her as much as it used to. They walk to the diner on the corner with their palms pressed together the whole time.

…0…

One thing that Quinn's gotten used to about Mike Chang is his perpetual motion. He's never still, even when he's not dancing. They'll be sitting somewhere, in the shade where it's cool, and some part of him will continue to be mobile. He likes to bounce his knees, twitch his feet, stretch his fingers. Something. Always.

So it's a bit of a surprise when he's late to the studio one day and his mom tells Quinn that he's still asleep when she goes over to check on him.

Mike has a little brother and a little sister who are sitting in the kitchen when she gets there. They smile up at her and ask if she wants a cookie. Smiling, Quinn joins them.

"Mike gets mad when I wake him up," his brother says. "I don't think he'd get mad at you." He blushes a bright apple red when Quinn smiles at him.

"Sounds like a good idea," Mrs. Chang tells her, winking over the glass of milk she hands her daughter.

A case of butterflies hit Quinn outside the door to Mike's room. She's only been in two guys' bedrooms before; Puck and Finn, and those didn't turn out very well for her. Pausing with her hand on the knob, she takes a deep breath and eases the door open.

He's sound asleep, on his stomach, snoring softly.

Taking a tentative step into the room, Quinn looks around. It seems to be a typical guy room. The walls are dark blue, there's an X-Box console and a TV across from the bed. Clothes spill out of the open closet and along the floor. Other than his laptop, the only thing on his desk is a small pile of dishes and empty soda cans. A stack of CD's and DVD's are pilled on towers beside his stereo. She sees a copy of _Shall We Dance_? on the top and a fond smile blooms on her face.

She sits on the edge of the bed and gently traces the line of one shoulder, skating her fingers down the surprisingly soft skin of his back. The jut of his shoulder blade curves perfectly under her palm, like the beginnings of an angel's wing.

After allowing herself the momentary indulgence, Quinn gives a few gentle shakes to his arm.

He groans and raises his head from his pillow. When he sees her, he frowns. "Am I still asleep?"

Quinn quirks an eyebrow at him. "That depends on what goes on when you're sleeping."

That seems to do the trick Mike rolls over onto his back, yawns, and stretches his arms over his head. Quinn tries (and fails) to keep her eyes from watching the way his stomach muscles expand and contract with his movements.

That's why it takes her a minute to notice that his eyes are closed again.

Nudging him again with her hand, Quinn laughs. "Are you planning to get up anytime today?"

"Mmm."

"Mike."

"Mmm."

She stands. "Well then, I guess I should get going."

It works. His eyes pop open. "You're leaving?"

"You obviously need your rest," Quinn teases. She doesn't even question the smugness she feels when he props himself up on his elbows and shakes his head as if he's attempting to dislodge the vestiges of his dreams from his mind. Or the fond affection she feels when he rubs at his eyes with the heel of hand like a little boy, wiping the last clinging tendrils of sleep off his eyelashes.

"No, I'm up. I'm up." He insists, letting his head fall backward.

"That's not up," Quinn points out. "That's horizontal."

"It's a process." He yawns again, running a hand through his messy hair. It's gotten longer and falls over his eyes as he looks at her. He gives her a lazy grin. "Care to throw me a shirt? Unless you prefer me like this."

Refusing to blush, Quinn grabs the first one she sees and throws it at his head.

…0…

They hang around his house most of the day. Mrs. Chang is nice and doesn't look at Quinn with suspicion the way most mothers do now and his little sister shows her three times how she can French braid her Barbie's hair.

When Mike walks her out to her car, she makes him cross his heart that there won't be anymore all night X-Box marathons with Finn and Matt.

"Promise," he tells her, winking as he saunters back into the house.

…0…

"He did not say that."

Quinn almost drops her milkshake she's laughing so hard.

Mike places one hand over his heart and holds his other one, clutching his own shake, above his head. "I swear. With a straight face and everything."

"Remind me to have a talk with Matt." She sips at her shake, chocolate, and imagines what would have possessed Matt to use a line like that on a girl he didn't even know. "Please tell me you don't use lame lines like that on girls."

"Nah, I'm not really smooth enough for lines."

They walk through the crowd, coming to a stop at a bin full of used books. The first Saturday of every month there's a huge flea market in the park and Mike has gotten it in his head to see if he can find a pair of Ninja Stars (His Mom said no to ordering them online. This way he won't need her credit card.) and invited her along. So far the only thing they've bought are the milkshakes.

He swipes at a drop of strawberry ice cream on his upper lip. Picking through the books, he makes a face. "Romance novels."

She bumps his hip with her own. "You have something against romance, Chang?"

His cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink, he ducks his head. "No."

She's embarrassed him, and finds it adorable. "Okay then, tell me your best line."

He shakes his head, straw between his lips. "I told you, I can't pull 'em off."

Quinn flutters her eyelashes at him, stepping closer. "Come on, I'm curious." He still looks resistant, though clearly caving. "Okay, how about your best one and the absolute worst one you can think of."

"That I can do," he says. He takes one final sip of his milkshake and then rubs his hands together. "All right, worst one first." Stepping yet another step closer to her, he grins the cheesiest grin she has ever seen and plops an arm around her shoulder. "You look like a cop."

"I do?"

"Oh yeah. And I'm gonna stare at you till I'm arrested."

Quinn's mouth drops open and then she cracks up, falling against him. "Oh my God, where did you even hear that?"

"My Uncle Jon," she states.

She ponders that for a moment. "He never actually used it though, right?"

Smirking, he dips his head down, whispering, "Ask my Aunt Karen."

Still chuckling, she resumes sorting through the box and finds a volume of Edna St. Vincent Millay that's in pretty good shape. "What about the best one?"

Mike's eyes dart down to her hand. "Poetry, huh?"

"Is that the line?"

"Oh no." Mike steps away from her, arm falling from her shoulders and looks at her with all the seriousness in the world. "You know, my mom used to read me poetry when I was a kid."

She wasn't expecting that. "Really?"

He nods. "My favorite line," he takes a deep breath, "I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees."

It's simple, direct, and yes poetic. Beautiful. A strong, deep flush spreads over her skin, she can feel it, and before Quinn can think further, she raises herself up on her toes and kisses him.

He tastes like strawberry.

…0…

The Fourth of July is that weekend and Mike invites Quinn and her mom to a barbeque at his house.

His whole family is there, so is Matt and Brittany. Artie and Tina show up about an hour after she does. Turns out Tina is Mike's second cousin. "How many Changs do you think there are in Lima?" he teases.

Brittany and Mike went out a few times, way back in Freshman year, so his siblings know her and pounce on her at once. Quinn sits with Brittany while she braids Mike's sister's hair and they talk about nothing really. Cheerios practice. Family vacations. Santana is dating someone, but Brittany doesn't know who.

Quinn's about to ask after that one just for the sake of further conversation when Mike ambles over and sits on the grass in front of her seat. His head lolls back onto her knees. "It's so hot."

She sets her glass on his forehead, the condensation from her cold lemonade running over his skin. "Better?"

They stay that way as the sun goes down, bathing everything in red light and the stars begin to twinkle overhead. Their friends join them when they walk the kids down to the park to watch the fireworks. Just as the colors start to burst overhead, Mike tugs her hand and pulls her away from the crowd.

Back up against a tree, Quinn lets Mike kiss her, not even caring that half the town is around them. It's been two days since she first kissed him not three feet from where they are now. Wrapping her fingers in the hem of his shirt, Quinn just lets herself fall.

…0…

Dance lessons are followed now with drives around town until late into the night, more fast food than she cares to think about, more movies than she's seen in her entire life. July speeds past her in Mike's Jeep and Quinn begins to feel like a normal teenager again.

…0…

They go out to the drive-in again, this time to see _West Side Story_. It isn't much of a surprise that they spy Finn's truck in the front row, Rachel studying the screen and reciting the lines along with the actors. Mike sings along to 'I Feel Pretty' ("why do you know that?"), then they hear the unmistakable Berry pipes chime in and they lose it.

They both end up in the backseat during the wedding, things getting feverish, until the security guards taps on the window with his flashlight.

Laughing, they head off for the river again.

…0…

August is hotter than ever. Quinn still meets Mike almost every day at the studio, but it's too hot to dance even with the air conditioning on full blast. They never stay long, opting instead for some place air conditioned.

One day, they wind up at her house. Her mom is out for the day and most of the evening, at some trade show in Toledo. They order takeout and gather all the (minimal) junk food in the house and take some movies up to her room.

Mike flops back on her bed. "It's so girly in here," he remarks, stuffing one of her teddy bears under his head.

She grabs it and whacks his bicep. "You're such a guy."

He doesn't say anything, only smiles, and Quinn falls down beside him, one knee falling over his. One of Mike's hands slide into her hair. As his long fingers scrape against her scalp, she looks around her bedroom. It hasn't changed much since she was a kid; pink walls, white furniture, floral curtains. "Wow, its really… girly in here."

Mike snorts. "That's what I just said."

She sits up and faces him. "What are you doing tomorrow?"

"I have a feeling I'm going to be here," he replies, heaving a martyred sigh before he winks at her.

…0…

Mike shows up in overalls. Pressing her lips together, tight, Quinn climbs into the passenger seat and they head to Home Depot.

Three gallons of paint and a half dozen boxes later (and a detour to Target for new curtains) they make it back to her room and start boxing up all the knick knacks and photos, toss the things she's giving to charity into plastic bags, and pry open the lids.

Mike stands back when they're done, a smear of purple down one side of his face. "Nice. It's not so princessy in here now."

Quinn gets off the stool by the window and looks at the new curtains. "Yeah. Here, help me take this down." They get the canopy off and she decides that the four poster bed looks much better without the white fabric dangling from the top. They put the furniture back and unpack the boxes.

At the bottom of one of the boxes is a large volume of fairy tales that her Dad got her for her seventh birthday. It's Disney, all white and pink with princes and princesses and cartoon animals on the cover, surrounding a big gold press of Cinderella's castle in the middle. She runs her hands over it, thinking about her parents reading her bedtime stories when she was a little girl.

"Hey." Mike places a gentle hand on her arm. "You okay?"

She nods, instinct. "Yeah. Just… wondering if… this year, if it never happened, would I still believe in fairytales."

Taking the book from her, Mike hugs her against his chest. Quinn sighs, feeling safer with his chin resting on top of her head and his heartbeat knocking against her own.

She has no idea why she feels she needs saving though.

"It's gonna be all right, Quinn," he tells her, rubbing circles on her back. "Besides, happily ever after is _so _once upon a time."

The tears she refuses to shed and the laugh she fights combine, and she snorts against Mike's neck. "Atta girl."

…0…

It happens on a Thursday.

They're down by the river, Mike's Jeep among the trees for some cover, and the moon roof is open. What had started out as a simple evening of seeing who could name the most constellations shifted when Quinn emptied the frozen lemonade she got on the way and the heat began to get to her. Mike reclines the backseat and they laid down, their combined body temperatures making her sweat a little bit more so she sat up and shrugged her short sleeve cardigan off.

Mike trails the edge of his nail down her shoulder, along the line of her arm, and wraps his long fingers around hers. He tugs her down on top of him and from there it's a little fuzzy; a haze of hands and lips and heat.

It isn't until she hooks her fingers into his belt loops and tugs their hips together, making Mike groan into her mouth, that she snaps out of it.

Quinn sits up, now in his lap, and tries to catch her breath. Mike gazes up at her, his dark eyes wide and not entirely focused, hunger stark and breathtaking on his face.

She's speechless.

"Hey." He cups her face with his warm, warm hands, eyes staying above her neck (rare), concern edging out the open want written all over his features. "You okay?"

"I-" her breath stutters in her throat, "I don't know."

One hand stays where it is, the other glides down her back, circles of skin against skin that just are not helping.

Climbing off him, Quinn runs her fingers through her hair, breathing deeply, wishing she still had her shirt on. Maybe it would help. Give her a better sense of control. Or at least make her feel less embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Mike, I really thought I could."

Scooting closer, he taps his knee against hers. "There's nothing to be sorry for. If you're not ready, you're not ready."

God. Why does he have to be so nice. "But I've already had sex," she mutters, more to herself, to calm her own nerves, than to him. It feels almost like she's talking herself into it. "It shouldn't be a question of ready."

"You also had a baby," Mike says, so soft it's near inaudible.

A few tears leak their way out of the corners of her eyes. She lets Mike snake his arm about her shoulders and pull her against his side. She should want this. She does want this. Mike is amazing, and they've gotten so close in the last few months. She cares about him, has fun with him, trusts him. Quinn had wondered if she would really ever be able to trust anyone again, ever. Especially guys. But then Mike happened, and her made her realize that not all guys are the same.

She turns her body closer toward Mike, curling herself into him and thread her fingers into his black hair. Breathing deeply, Quinn tries to find the strength to let the last of those bad feeling slip away into the inky Ohio night.

…0…

They're not official or anything, not by a long shot, but Quinn realizes that they've reached the point where them seeing each other is well, not common knowledge, but they aren't hiding it. Mercedes knows, Quinn by extension. Artie and Tina were at the barbeque, so were Mike and Brittany - which leads to Santana. If they had seen Finn and Rachel at the movies, it stands to reason that the two of them saw her and Mike. The week before Labor Day they had been in line at Starbucks, holding hands and giggling over the two soccer moms in the corner who were blatantly looking him up and down, when they ran in Mr. Schue.

(It doesn't bother her that people know. Honestly, she tries not to think about it, about what people are saying. She just likes being with him.)

So no, Quinn isn't as surprised as she should be when Mike drops her off one evening (family dinner at his Nana's) and Puck is waiting on her front porch. He has that look, the same one that Finn'd had when he stopped looking at her as if she'd just ripped his heart out and done a cheer all over it. It haunts her, that look.

The taillights of Mike's Jeep disappear around the corner before he says anything. "So… you and Chang, it's true."

"You know." She's not asking. Doesn't need to, really. He's sitting on the top step, she takes the one below it. "Finn tell you?"

He chuckles a little bit. "Rachel actually." Of course. "She sent me this email, don't think Hudson's not gonna get it for giving the chick my address, but it basically said that since she and Finn are all loved up now that makes me and her best buddies in law or something in her mind," his voice is dripping with sarcasm and mockery, and Quinn can't even bring herself to be angry at Rachel for any of it, "and she wanted to 'make sure I was okay' about you dating Mike." Puck does those ridiculous finger quotes and she rolls her eyes. He knows how much she hates that.

A few seconds pass, during which Quinn studies her shoes in the fading light and she has no idea what Puck is doing because she can't really bear to look at him.

Finally, just when she think the silence will manifest itself into something solid, Puck sort of grunts and blows out his breath. "Aren't you going to say anything?"

"Like what?"

"Like why you didn't tell me," he snaps.

Now, now Quinn looks at him. "Puck, I didn't have to tell you."

He's already pissed, but his expression hardens even more at that. Cursing, he pushes himself to his feet and starts down her walk, but only makes it halfway before turning around. "You're such a hypocrite, you know that?"

"How am I a hypocrite?"

Puck scoffs, as if it (she's) a bad joke. "You've always thought you were so great, Quinn Fabray, above everyone else, and you always said no to Finn. But then you cheated on him, with his best friend," he smirks, "you broke your big important vow and then you couldn't look down your nose at anybody anymore - even though you tried."

Hot tears well up behind her eyes, born of anger and denial, and a feeling she doesn't even want to name that comes from Puck thinking these things of her. "I know I was kind of a bitch, but-"

"No, you weren't," he says, "you were a major bitch, but it was hot. I admit it." Shoving his hands in his pockets, he takes a few backwards steps. "I just wonder how much fun senior year is going to be for you without Cheerios, without your social status, and now this latest scandal."

He disappears, and Quinn sits there for a long time, thinking about it.

When summer began she had one goal; get her life back. And Mike offered to help, so she let him. Then it snowballed.

They haven't done any real dancing in almost a week, she hasn't gone for a run in over two. Instead, they've been babysitting, or watching movies, or driving around town until way into the night goofing off.

She hasn't really accomplished anything. If anything, she's just dug herself in deeper.

…0…

All night, Quinn thinks about what she's going to say. She has to - there's no way she won't hear from Mike all day. Their last year of high school starts tomorrow and he's been anxious about it for weeks. Why, she's not really sure, but whenever it comes up he jitters more than usual and gets this very determined look on his face.

He calls her the first time around ten. She's always up. Years and years of getting up early has made sleeping late practically impossible for her.

When she doesn't answer, he waits ten minutes and calls again. Then fifteen minutes after that. Another five after that. And so on, and so on.

Its almost eleven thirty when she sees the dark green hood of the Jeep outside her living room window and opens the door before he even knocks. "Hi."

He walks in and stares at her with more concern than she can handle. So she sits on the couch with a pillow squeezed in her grip.

"Quinn, are you okay?" Mike squats down in front of her, his hands falling to her pajama covered knees. "I've been calling you for over an hour."

"Puck's home," she whispers, looking up at him from under her eyelashes. "He was waiting for me last night."

"Oh." His hands slip away. "Did you, you know, tell him?"

She shakes her head, a smile that taste bitter twisting her lips. "Rachel beat me to it."

"Oh," he repeats, and it irritates her more than it should.

Standing, she walks over in front of the fireplace, wrapping her knuckles around the mantle so tightly it hurts. "I don't think we should see each other anymore."

The seconds tick by, and then, "Is this about Puck?"

He sounds… young. She closes her eyes against the overwhelming guilt of hurting him like this. It isn't fair, and she has no right to do it. But it doesn't change anything. "I don't want Puck," she tells him. "I should. I mean, there has to be a reason it was him, right?" Looking into the mirror over the fireplace, she meets the reflection of Mike's eyes. "Dragging you into yet another piece of gossip about me and my screwed up life isn't going to help anybody, Mike."

"Quinn-" He takes a step forward, and she cuts him off in more than one way.

"I'll see you at school tomorrow."

And it's done.

…0…

The school day dawns bright and cheery and impossibly hot.

Quinn's been up since five, trying to find the perfect outfit and taking extra care packing her bag for her Cheerios 'tryout' after school. It takes longer than it should. Every time she starts to do something - her hair, her makeup, breakfast - she sees Mike's face in front of her and she has to stop what she's doing and just breathe.

The first day is only a half day. There's an assembly, everyone goes to homeroom to get their lockers and schedules, and that's that. The whole thing takes about three hours.

Mr. Schue asks them to meet in the choir room before they leave. He has some announcement that turns out to be Principal Figgins insisting that they have auditions again, and that, again, they only need the requisite twelve members.

"That's crap," Finn complains. "What about all the stuff we had to go through last year just to be here?"

Rachel puts a hand on his arm, and Quinn rolls her eyes. Over Finn's shoulder she meets Mike's gaze, and a blush crawls up her face. When she averts her eyes, they land on Puck who has a half hearted glare to offer up before he looks away.

She sighs. Its going to be a long year.

"Let's wrap up for today" Mr. Schue says. "I have an appointment to get to." He looks at his wrist, but he's forgotten his watch. Artie's wearing one, and Mr. Schue turns to him. "What does your watch say. Artie?"

At the same time, Quinn and Mike both blurt out, "It says, 'Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick.'" Their eyes meet again and they lose it.

"I don't get it," Brittany says softly, more to herself it seems.

A few other people chuckle along with them (not Puck), and Mr. Schue indulges in a good natured eye roll before he dismisses them.

When she leaves the choir room, Mike is standing against the wall, obviously waiting for her. "Can we talk?"

Brittany and Santana stop behind her, the three of them having planned to walk to Cheerios practice together. She tells them she'll catch up and waits until Puck disappears down the hall with a sneer and a shake of the head before she looks Mike in the eye. There are still people walking all around them as they slowly head towards the athletic field.

"Mike," she begins, a whole prepared speech about to roll off her tongue. They're at the fence, and he takes her hand to stop her coming onslaught of words.

"Quinn, I think I know what happened."

Her eyebrow raises all on its own. "You do?"

Head bobbing up and down, he moves closer to her. Their eyes lock and for a moment, it's all blur of colors and lights, and she only sees him, the crowd around them lost. "Look, I don't care if people talk, okay? I just want you."

It's almost enough to make her melt. Almost. "I care," she snaps. "All last year, I was the one that everybody in school talked about - even the teachers. I can't do it again."

For a split second, he looks so incredibly hurt, and then it's gone and he just looks angry. Not that she blames him. She's basically said that being with him isn't worth the price of being gossip again. That has to sting.

"Fine."

She makes to go, but before she can even turn her head, Mike's hand snakes out and curls around the back of her neck, hauling her face up to his. It's deep yet soft at the same time, reminding her of how he'd kissed her in the back of his Jeep on so many earlier nights. Her hands fist in the hem of his shirt and when Quinn pulls back, Mike's hands still rests at the nape of her neck. His eyes are closed, and a light tremor runs the length of his body before he lets out a shuddering breath, opening his eyes. They find hers, too big and too dark. Bedroom eyes, all heavy lids and sadness and it makes her entire body quake.

"See you around, Q," he murmurs, letting her go all at once.

Cheerios practice starts up, and Quinn never makes it to her try out.

…0…

fin.

"I told you, I haven't even met her, but I'd kinda like to marry her... I think I will." and

"What does your watch say?" "It says 'Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick.'" from _Shall We Dance? _Lucky and Penny are from _Swing Time_. Both are great movies, give 'em a watch.

I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees. - Pablo Neruda

*Totally disregarding those certain spoilers.*


End file.
